Timey Tardis Files: Doctor Who ficlets & drabbles
by paynesgrey
Summary: This is a collection of short ficlets and drabbles from the Doctor Who universe, mostly new series, but the classic Who might pop in as well. Various genres, pairings, and ratings apply. In-progress.
1. Wherein Rory Encounters River Song

AN: Written for the "willful" challenge a fanfic bakeoff at Livejournal. Series 5 spoilers for current episodes.

Wherein Rory Encounters River Song

The moment the Tardis crashed down, the door flung open from the outside, and a streak rushed past him right into the arms of the Doctor. Rory blinked and observed the new ornament on the Doctor's arm (a woman more than an ornament, but he wasn't completely sure), and he gaped at the wide-eyed vixen who turned her face from the Doctor to his.

"Well, now, who is this, sweetie?"

She called the Doctor _sweetie_, and Rory couldn't help smirking. Although, all mirth died when the woman crept toward him, her long red nails clawing slowly out to him, leaving him to shrink away like a violet.

This woman was obviously _something_ special, and Rory had never seen the Doctor so unnerved. Amy beamed beside him. "Fancy seeing you again, Dr. Song."

She smiled sweetly at Amy briefly but continued to stare at Rory. Amy promptly introduced them, and Rory, unable to hold back his shock, pointed at her with a shaken finger when Amy happily addressed River as the Doctor's wife.

"_Future_ wife," the Doctor said, and then he bit his lip, mortified and angered that he had called River his wife at all. "No, _no_, NO, not wife, just _future_..." The brilliant, willful Doctor, who usually made Rory look like rubbish in the face of danger, was at the moment completely tongue-tied.

"Future...sweetie," River corrected, offering her hand to Rory, which he obliged.

"Oh, that makes sense," Rory finally said, and River only grinned wider.

The Doctor, now very predatory, peered into Rory's face. "How does that make sense?"

"Uh...you're perfect for each other," Rory said. "You both seem completely mad." Amy nodded in total agreement.

The Doctor was at a loss, and Rory silently cheered for the end of his days as the obligatory third wheel.


	2. Future Scoundrel

AN: Written for the "Token" prompt at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Word Count: 300. Series 5. Pairing: River/Eleven.

Future Scoundrel

He was staring a hole in her, eyeing the glittering green jewel she wore around her neck. She almost flinched at his touch, thinking he'd yank it off. Instead, he delicately moved her blonde curls aside and asked her accusingly, "Where did you get this?"

Oh, he _knew_ what it was. After all, the gem was famous throughout the whole universe. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was astounded and appalled. Would he turn her in? She wondered since he had been there when they retrieved it.

"Spoilers," she said offhandedly, placing her hand over his grip. She smiled sweetly.

"River," he said, sounding just like a scolding father. She lifted her chin.

"If you must know," she smiled toothily. "We stole it together."

"No," he replied, drawing out the 'o' and laughing. He looked at her with disbelief, but she held her expression rigidly. He swallowed hard. "I would never!"

She tilted her head and grinned at him brightly. "Do you know… _that I know_, that when you regenerate your personality changes?" His face went white, and she chuckled. "You don't really know how you're going to act, or what you'll be like from the next life and onto the one after that."

The Doctor frowned morosely, but suddenly, he shot up in his seat. "No! I become a devil, a total scoundrel!" He turned to River and gripped her shoulders. "Tell me, is there anything I can do to prevent it?"

She couldn't hold back her mirth anymore and laughed, and she ruffled his hair and felt a sense of warmth as his arms fell softly around her. "There's nothing, Doctor. And honestly, you aren't much different now, than then."

His eyes widened and she added, "I suppose you're almost a lost cause."


	3. Hello Again

AN: Done for the "clue" theme for fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Pairing: River/Eleven. No spoilers. Word Count 300. Rated: PG.

* * *

Hello Again

Stirring, the Doctor blinks from an intrusive secondary heat. Of course, this planet is known for its hot scarlet sun and crystal beaches, but as fingers glide over his smooth naked skin, he immediately notices the invasion ghosting over him.

And he _knows_ her, her hands - or he should know them; the clues to her identity are all in the touch. Time, he's always believed, is in no way linear, but his body responds to her, _whenever_ she's from. He knows, whatever the order in which she's hurt him, or loved him, it makes no difference. The spark passes through her fingers down the line of his bare chest, hovering just above the elastic band of his trim shorts.

When he feels her lips just below his navel, he opens his eyes, looking up at her as she stands, the blinding sun creating a pink halo around her curves and wild hair.

"Quite a way to say hello," he remarks amused.

"You're complaining?" she asks, and he never forgets how much he loves the dancing in her voice.

"No, no, unless ..." He pauses and rises onto his elbows. "This is a pretense for a favor, a dangerous mission where the world is at stake and I may lose a limb or a companion, or - something far worse."

The breeze blows through her hair. "It could be," she says cryptically, a smile still within her voice.

"Well, then," the Doctor says with a sigh. "In that case, Dr. Song..." He plops back onto the sand, enjoying the last few minutes of his sunbathing before River Song drags him away again. "Why don't you do that again?"

He closes his eyes in expectation, and he hears her settle next to him onto the sand.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	4. Killer Style

AN: Written for the "hair" prompt at gen_drabble on Livejournal. Rated G. 100 words. No spoilers.

* * *

Killer Style

At first, River Song hated her hair. It was naturally curly and unmanageable, and more than anything, it drew attention she didn't always want.

Growing up, she learned to appreciate her hair, and she soon realized that others seemed to enjoy it as well. Sure, men were mesmerized by the wildness of it, and yearned to weave their fingers through it, but they would never risk the pain.

Her hair was also a handy distraction. Her enemies were so taken in by the wonder of her curls, that in that split second, she had already drawn her gun on them.


	5. A Time for Comfort

AN: Written for the "ouch" theme at fanfic_bakeoff. Word Count: 300. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR "THE ALMOST PEOPLE." Pairing: slight Rory/Eleven. 

* * *

A Time for Comfort

Rory watches the TARDIS clean up the mess, and he says nothing, and in all his 900 years the Doctor doesn't know what to say.

He knows what they must _do_, and the TARDIS has set them on their course, and the Doctor knows he should be planning, investigating and getting started on this mission to rescue Amy Pond.

But he has one thing left to do first.

He rounds the control panel of the TARDIS and finds Rory sitting on a bench, his back turned to him. He supposes the man is crying, and the Doctor would let him cry - alone, but he _can't_, not now when he's hurting too.

Both men share love for Amy Pond; both men want to rescue her and see her captors pay.

The Doctor comes behind him, settling softly next to Rory on the bench. His thigh grazes against Rory's and the man doesn't even shift or move. The Doctor puts a cautious arm around his companion and feels the inevitable flinch before Rory relaxes and leans against him. He hears the sobs, almost silent like whispers, but the pain he senses, the thoughts he hears in Rory's head - it's all too excruciating, so much the Doctor can barely handle it in addition to his own pain, but he lets him in. He lets the man cry against him.

"Oh, Rory, Rory," he bemoans, drawing him closer. Rory meets his eyes, desperate and pleading, and most certainly - angry, longing for revenge. The Doctor knows this look, the wildness born out of it - the precursor to war.

"We'll find her; we'll get her back. I promise you." The Doctor nuzzles his forehead against Rory's, and he nods as the Doctor takes his hand, feeling the tears fall against his skin.


	6. A Painted Blue Box

AN: Written for the "night" theme at who_contest at Livejournal. Word Count Limit: 300. Pairing: younger Rory/Amy. No spoilers.

* * *

A Painted Blue Box

Rory looked up at the clear night sky, stars winking back at him as he tried to imagine Amy's

Raggedy Doctor, traveling somewhere throughout the galaxy.

"Come on!" she yelled at him, and Rory didn't know why he was here, not when his mum and dad were going to kill him for sneaking out of his house more than past his bedtime to play games with that Pond girl.

But _that Pond girl_ was very hard to deny.

He met her eyes, and she looked cross with him. She was poking her head out of the make-shift cardboard door, and he couldn't help but be impressed with it. Just five hours ago it was just a big box that held Jeff's mum's new icebox, and the moment Amy saw it, she snatched it up before it even made its way into the rubbish. Now it was painted blue, like the police box that Amy claimed her Doctor traveled inside.

"Let's go on adventures!" Amy said, grabbing his hand. Quickly she pulled him inside it. Rory could hear Amy breathing, and he suddenly realized how close they were in this box.

"Hey..." He heard her say, and suddenly, he found her much closer to him than he'd remembered. He felt a brush of lips against his, and after the shock, Rory leaned forward and kissed back. When he pulled apart, he furrowed his brow.

"Should you really be snogging the Doctor?" he asked, not liking the idea of Amy fancying someone else over him, especially someone imaginary.

"Stupid! I wasn't kissing the Doctor," she told him fiercely. "I was kissing _you_!" Roughly, Amy snogged him again, within this cardboard box painted blue, if only to thank him for putting up with all this.


	7. Lovely Form

AN: Written for the "balance" theme for who_contest on Livejournal. Word Count: 375. Pairing: River/Eleven. Rated PG.

* * *

Lovely Form

When the Doctor found her, River was doing yoga in one the rooms of the TARDIS. The Doctor had never seen this room before, as if it were brand new and recently concocted to fit River's specifications on the perfect fitness setting. Of course, when it came to River and the TARDIS, new rooms and such never surprised him.

It was as if the two of them were always conspiring against him.

The door to her room slid closed, and the Doctor leaned against the wall, observing her. River noticed him in a sideways glance, and she smirked. "Hello, sweetie," she said, gracefully moving through a Sun Salutation. The Doctor watched the motions with intrigue, trying to not be distracted.

"Oh, don't mind me. I just came to ask where you wanted to head next," he said in a soft tone, his eyes glittering as they followed her movements.

"I'm thinking Hyspero. I have some shopping to do," she said, coming into a Cobra.

"Hrmm," he said, barely making an audible noise. "Lovely form you have there. I see taking you to ancient India for a spell was definitely worthwhile." She caught the sarcasm in his voice. "For one of us, anyway."

"Aw, it must have really killed you to satiate this archeologist's curiosity of that time," she said, and she leaned backward with her hands high in the air, catching his eyes after maintaining a quite limber and advanced stretch. "You know, you could join me instead of standing there ogling me. You do need some help with balance; you're always stumbling and tripping about. It'll be more than good for you."

"No, no, I'd rather watch, thanks," he said, still entranced by her movements.

"In more ways than one," she drawled saucily, moving into another pose and regulating her breathing steadily throughout their chat.

"Ah, let me guess - _spoilers_," he returned teasingly, his eyes still transfixed. He moved away from the wall, feeling himself drawn to her.

River finished, turning to him and resting a towel over her shoulder. She placed a hand on his chest as he neared her. She grinned and met his excited gaze. "Well, yes, spoilers indeed." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "But not for long."


	8. Poor Little Paradox

AN: Written for the "burn" challenge at who_contest on Livejournal. Characters: Eighth Doctor, Charley Pollard. Spoilers for _Storm Warning_ BFA. Rating: G. Word Count: 328. (Classic Who)

* * *

Poor Little Paradox

He tries not to think about it, on how she's not supposed to be here. Charlotte Pollard should be _dead_, her life burning out as just another casualty in the R101 crash.

_You stupid old man_, he chides himself. He had to go and interfere. He had to save _her life_. He constantly second guesses himself. Maybe he's seeing this all wrong. Perhaps it isn't as bad as he suspects.

Maybe he was even supposed to be there to save her. Time may not even notice that he's created a paradox, that Charley travels around with him unknowingly as far greater threats come for her, worse than death. How important to the order of the universe could Charley really be?

He's afraid he's cursed her. Still, it's easier for the Doctor to deny anything wrong in it, even ignore it while he distracts her and whisks her away to explore other planets, other futures and pasts, and the beautiful sights within the depths of space.

No, he's the fool. Poor Charley is just the victim, and as long as she stays with him, she's worse off. The evidence is becoming clearer too, and Charley's not stupid. She'll realize soon enough herself what he's really done - what she _is_.

Can he take her back? Surely not. He can't undo the mess he's already created. Perhaps he will only make it worse.

"Oh, Doctor, you really are a stupid old man," he mutters to himself. Charley is sleeping peacefully in her room within the TARDIS, blissfully unaware of the internal dilemma he's facing.

"And she won't know, not yet, and hopefully not ever," he promises himself, and he suddenly feels silly. "I'm always talking to myself," he scoffs. "It really _is_a bad habit."

But his bad habits are nothing compared to what he's done to Charley. Is she better off dead? He has doubts, but the Doctor still doesn't think so. The Universe, however, may disagree with him.


	9. Serendipity

AN: Written for the "Kiss" drabble theme at who_contest at Livejournal. Word Count: 500. Characters: Eleventh Doctor, younger Rose Tyler. Rated:G.

* * *

Serendipity

The Doctor, of course, was never to meet his other selves in time; though, it was just as tricky to avoid running into his past companions, and sometimes he would be blindsided by such surprising serendipity.

Like now, when a small girl of blond braids framing her face collided against him, squeezing her arms around his lanky legs, almost throwing him off-balance.

"Dr. Smithe!" she cried, and he looked down and his blood turned cold when he met the eyes of a younger Rose Tyler. She had to be no more than eleven - maybe twelve, and she had obviously met him before.

_Right__, __timey__-__whimey __stuff__,_ he told himself.

Her eyes danced as she stared at him. "You're still wearing that silly bow tie!" she exclaimed, and the Doctor was still processing why she was here - or why _he_ was even here.

_Why __did __the __TARDIS __bring __me __here__? __It __seems __that __Rose __needs __me__, __but __why__?_

"Rose Tyler," he said breathlessly. She giggled at him.

"You always say my full name," she commented demurely. "You came back. You said you wouldn't, but that..."

He had guessed. He was sure his future self had told her something vague and impossible that he may come back to her, but she wouldn't really know. Or, like some of his other companions that he stumbled upon like this, he would break their hearts and tell them they'd never see him again.

"Rose." He bent down to hug her now, and she chattered wildly at him, asking him if he would help her with her Math homework again, or if he'd steal her away to the park, just so she could get some peace away from her mum.

In his hug, he kissed her temple and he felt her relax against him. Stiffening, he felt scared at how close his future self had gotten to her. "Rose," he said forlornly. "I have to go, but I just...popped by to see if you were doing okay." He hated lying, but he had to make a break.

"But you can't. You came at the perfect time!" she exclaimed. "I need your help. You remember those girls I told you about?"

He didn't but he nodded. He had a feeling "those girls" were bullying _his_ Rose.

"Well, they've followed me. I ran and saw you, and I knew that if you were with me..." She stopped and suddenly froze, setting her eyes on a trio of larger, older girls who eyed Rose like hungry wolves. The Doctor took her hand and pulled her close.

"Come along, Rose Tyler," he said, feeling instantly invincible and ready to protect Rose no matter what. She leaned closer to him, nodding against his side. "Let's go."

_This __was __it__, _he thought, and he knew that he was supposed to be here. The universe wouldn't split apart at this one moment.

He would take this one last adventure with Rose Tyler, and any more that Time would so generously allow.


	10. Our Precarious Dance

AN: Written for the "Light" theme for who-contest on Livejournal. Pairing: River/Eleven. Rating: PG. Word Count: 230. No spoilers or warnings.

* * *

OurPrecariousDance

When he kisses her, he sees nothing but light. Always, like the universe changing and forming all over again before him. Backward and forward, he feels it when he holds her - the impact of matter, the surge of fire and the swirling of dust before it all explodes anew.

He doesn't know why, or how. He's been with others, but it was never like this. He can't put his finger on the safety in it. There is no completion where he can weigh his thoughts, no assurance there is a middle between this beginning and end.

_I__'__ve __seen __you __die__, __River__,_ he thinks automatically when he meets her eyes. It's a fixed point he cannot (nor wouldn't) change. The end result is clear, but the journey - well, it never is, nor ever will be.

Drawing him back, she kisses him again as his thoughts engulf him like a flare.

_There __is __still __time__,_ he thinks - too optimistically. How many times are left for them? There are possibilities, and the risk in it, the allure of them fills his chest with hopeful warmth.

So many in-betweens and sideways, a complicated and precarious dance all over the web of time.

Pulling her closer, tighter - she smiles into his lips.

_If __that__'__s __the __case__,_ he muses through a joyful haze. _Better __not __waste __another __second __of __it__._


	11. Treasured Routines

AN: Written for the "treasures" prompt for who-contest on Livejournal. Character: Oswin. Spoilers: Series 7. Rated G. Word count: 620.

* * *

Treasured Routines

Oswin pulls a forlorn souffle out of the oven, frowns, and sighs unhappily at another failed experiment. She does not know what she's doing wrong, but she's a genius, so she's confident she can someday get it _right_ - and make a dish that she knows will make her mum proud.

She turns to the ingredients on the counter. The milk sits room temperature and almost empty, flour dusts the counter and stove-top, and she puts the bowl in the sink and begins to clean her used dishes.

She'll work on this recipe all over again - as always, and she's sure somehow, sometime, she'll make it perfect.

* * *

The music shrills in her head like a drowning scream. It's less comforting today, and Oswin purses her lips, glares at the door, and hates that the Daleks are quite persistent this time. They bang at the door, and she hears that cold, mechanical echo in her brain, scorching her every nerve.

She settles into her hammock, pulls the pillow over her ears, and closes her eyes.

She thinks of home, of successful souffles, and even of her first kiss.

_Something_ to keep the endless chatter and threats away.

* * *

Oswin dreams in numbers. Cold, endless equations that sometimes scare her because she knows everything, all at once, instantly and without doubt.

When Oswin dreams of formulas, it feels as though she's losing a piece of herself. Her heart turns a little colder around the edges when she solves a new, difficult theorem or can devise another seemingly impossible way to hack into another Dalek firewall.

It's invigorating to be this smart. Her mum would be so proud of her. But more and more, day after day, the supposed and expected praise of humans no longer gives her comfort, even if she is so terribly alone.

Oswin being a genius -well, it's just something that _is_.

* * *

She schedules her endless days accordingly, and Oswin always has a plan, a routine. Like clockwork, she knows the exact time when the Daleks come for her, slamming into her door and trying to get into her sanctuary, always seeping their way into her head.

So she has a plan. At least once a day she makes a souffle, and she imagines the look on her mum's face when she presents the perfectly made dish.

And when some experiments fail, and some are barely mediocre, Oswin settles into her hammock, she stares at the ceiling and turns on her voice recorder. She scribes another letter to her mum, and she looks around at the room of her treasures, her sanctuary, and thoughtfully she reminds herself that she will be rescued. She's not that alone, and soon, someday, she won't be.

She will survive. The Daleks may continue to force themselves into her head, and she may continually try to push them out, either awake or asleep... but she still has _herself_.

Oswin may be lonely, but at least, she thinks, she's still _human_.

And though her genius is her most useful gift, her humanity is the one thing she treasures most.

* * *

The next day Oswin brings out the ingredients from the cupboards and the fridge (that she designed and built herself) and she begins the recipe all over again. She tweaks it, as always, trying to improve on what went wrong the day before, and the day before that.

The milk sits full and new on her counter, fresh, and stamped with an expiration date for two weeks.

She sets everything out in front of her and thinks of her mum, of when she used to stand behind her and rattle off the ingredients in order to mix.

Then, Oswin begins again.


	12. She Could Have Said Yes

AN: Written for the "Yes" drabble challenge for who_contest on Livejournal. Characters: Eighth Doctor, Dr. Grace Holloway; Rated: G. Word Count: 345.

* * *

She Could Have Said Yes

She watched him leave, her eyes trailing from his soft blond hair kissed by a breeze and tracing down the pattern of his velveteen coat. Fireworks spattered in the sky bursting with celebratory color. Time seemed to slow for her, and though she sort of wanted it to stop, to hold onto this precious moment she'd never forget - meeting the Doctor and having this adventure with him, she couldn't.

Being with him had been riveting and scary and mostly - _impossible_, more than anything. She'd learned a lot of things since she'd met him, about herself, and about what was really capable in the world.

Her heart ached a little bit. Grace Holloway had met a man that she could see herself with, a man easy to fall for but hard to compare to anyone else.

When he'd asked her to come with him, she almost jumped at the chance. Tempting, he'd said, when she'd asked for him to come with _her_.

But her life was not for him, and if anything, _his_ life was the tempting one.

She wondered how many people, starry-eyed and full of wonder, that he'd ask to come join him on his journeys. Though, she'd like to think she was special in a way, and the press of his lips still ghosted over hers, tempting her further to throw away everything and go off with this impossible, thrilling man.

But she couldn't, not while learning the things the Doctor had showed her and knowing she'd escaped death for one more chance to do something right in this world. So, she couldn't go with him. She wanted to; admittedly, saying yes would have been the easy part.

Yet, Grace felt a pinch of hesitation which slowly turned into resolve. She couldn't go, even knowing a life with him would be more wonderful than she could ever imagine.

She had to stay here and help people, using the gifts and talents she was given. She could help and change so many lives, here, just as the Doctor had done for hers.


	13. The Rescue

AN: Written for the "Beauty" contest at who-contest on Livejournal. Characters: Eight, Clara Oswald incarnation. AU-ish. Slight nod to another Sci-fi series. Rated: PG. Word Count: 500.

* * *

The Rescue

Smoke and bile burned his lungs, but the Doctor felt too defeated to care. Shouts echoed around him, and he could hear the ship groan and wheeze as it crumbled apart.

He had to get back to the TARDIS, but he couldn't move, and in some way, he was content to die here. He'd seen enough suffering, and maybe he owed some sort of debt for the ones he'd lost. _Susan, Charley, Lucie..._

The Doctor accomplished some good. He'd saved an entire planet, but then some sort of creature, a black shadow with a white mask of hissing teeth pushed him into a pipe bursting with scalding steam.

"Doctor! Get up!" Shouted a voice he didn't quite recognize. _Sarah Jane? Peri?_ No... Was it his imagination?

He felt someone lifting him up and supporting him. She grunted from his weight, but she was determined.

"Who...?" he asked, and he found it amusing that he was the one asking "who" and not the stranger for once.

"Ensign Oswald at your service, sir. I assume you have to get off this heap and back to your own ship?" she asked. She was Federation, but he didn't remember meeting an Ensign Oswald on this ship.

"Blue box..." He mumbled, and he swore he breathed "TARDIS" several times, like a mantra of coming home. Who was he fooling? He had to return to the TARDIS. He had to _live._

She carried him along without fuss, and when he'd arrived at the the TARDIS door, he fumbled unsuccessfully within his leather pockets for his key. Resting on the side of the TARDIS, he cursed.

"No worries," Oswald said brightly, and he finally turned and looked at her since she'd saved him. She eyed the TARDIS and grinned. "Come on, you old hag. You know what to do. He's dying so you better open up."

The door creaked open, almost annoyed.

Astonished but too weak to investigate further, the Doctor stepped inside. He turned back to the girl, pleased to find a beautiful face framed by that tight, Federation hairstyle.

He heard a clamoring down the hallway, and despite his pain and blurred vision, he watched her step in front of him, waiting for whatever disturbance was coming their way.

"Ensign Oswald..."

Without fear, she stood rigidly as vengeful voices came closer. He saw her shoulders tense and relax as she breathed. "Go, Doctor, you have to _run_."

"Thank you," he managed, not knowing what to say or feel about what she was doing. Hesitating, the Doctor slipped inside into the comfort of the TARDIS, his wounds already healing.

Startled, his body jerked when he'd heard gunshots. Panicked, he'd turned back to the door, hoping the girl had not sacrificed herself so he could escape.

Before he could turn back, the TARDIS had already made up her mind and revved the engines. Feeling the weight of the strange, impossible girl's sacrifice, the Doctor closed his eyes solemnly as the TARDIS plummeted them into time and space.


End file.
